Deleilah Page 14

  “Ah well, their loss, sweetie. Stay in touch and invite us round for afternoon tea when you’ve got it all straight.”

  “Will do, Uncle. Email your invoice and I’ll pay it from the internet cafe here.”

  The phone fell silent and Leilah frowned. Derek’s voice wavered across the virtual distance. “No charge, Deleilah. I told you. I repaid an old debt. We’re all square, sweetie. Just stay in touch.” The line went dead and Leilah gulped, never suspecting he’d been serious.

  “Problems?”

  Leilah looked up from the smart black shoes, staring into Tane’s handsome face.

  “No.” She stood, hating how he dwarfed her in physical presence as well as personality. “Quite the opposite.”

  “Tell me?” He cocked his head and smiled.

  “It’s a secret.” Leilah narrowed her eyes and hugged herself with pleasure.

  “Ok. I wanted to talk about Hector’s bureau.” Tane chewed his top lip. “I bought it when everything went up for auction. It’s still yours and you can have it back any time you want. The rabbit might be harder to prise from Nathan’s hands though.”

  “Thank you.” Emotion permeated Leilah’s expression and Tane reached for her. Leilah climbed up two steps backwards to level their height and flung her arms around the police sergeant’s neck, hugging him close and kissing his cheek. “You’re a beautiful man.”

  “You’ll get the town talking.” Tane’s voice sounded muffled in her hair and Leilah kissed him again and raised a hand to his cheek.

  “Are you ok?” she asked, scrutinising his eyes with a perception only she could bring.

  “Better now you’re here,” he whispered, burying his face in her hair. “I’ve missed you more than you could imagine.”

  “You knew where I was.” Leilah stroked the rough cheek, feeling Tane’s stubble with her fingers.

  “Unreachable. That’s what you were.” Tane sighed and Leilah heard regret in his voice. “On the other side of a TV screen or magazine cover. Simple people like me can’t compete with that.”

  “I’m here now.” She pulled away and kissed his long nose, feeling his fingers around her waist. “Come for coffee with me?”

  “I should get home.” He sounded apologetic and Leilah squashed a spark of jealousy. Tane pinched her bum through the dirty jeans and wrinkled his nose. “You stink of horse, anyway.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic packet with a mobile phone logo emblazoned on it. “Can you stick this in your phone and ask your daughter to stop calling me.” He chewed his lip and watched Leilah’s fingers as she took the offered sim card. “Miriama’s unsettled at the moment anyway without strange women calling me.” He turned to leave and then stopped, jabbing a finger in her direction. “Hey, be careful up at Vaughan’s place.”

  “He won’t hurt me!” Leilah heard the defensiveness in her voice and Tane cocked his head in amusement.

  “I know that! But there’s still Baxter’s murderer loose up there somewhere. Just be careful!”

  “Yes Dad.” Leilah stood on the steps of the war memorial and stuck her tongue out. Tane laughed and shook his head, walking back to his squad car and starting the engine. He gave a quick blast of the sirens just to make her jump and set off along the road towards home with a wave.

  “Idiot!” she called after him but he didn’t hear.

  Mari’s cafe held a few straggling tourists dragging out their afternoon tea before wandering back to the many motels on the outskirts of town. Leilah wandered in, closing the door against the jangling of the bell which heralded her arrival. Mari appeared from the room behind the till and her face lit up in a grin. “You came back!” she cried and Leilah felt guilt for her rudeness before. The old woman cared about her; always had.

  “Yeah.” Leilah stepped up to the counter and ordered coffee in a take away cup, aware she might run away again if Mari berated her over Hector’s funeral.

  “You want a take away cup so you can run, kōtiro?” Mari’s perception rooted Leilah to the dark spot on the concrete floor, the surface rutted from a million local feet and more than a few foreign ones. The younger woman lowered her eyes to study a tub of biscotti next to the till and Mari reached across and touched her hand. “Then come in the back while I make sandwiches for the last order and you can leave at any time.”

  Leilah opened her mouth and then closed it, following the tiny, bent figure into the back room by skirting the counter with shame in her heart. Mari seized slices of bread in her arthritic fingers, the sterile gloves making her actions appear blurred. “There’s something you should know,” Leilah began, leaning her back against the sink.

  “Me first,” Mari butted in. “Age before beauty.” She smiled across at Leilah with a butter knife in her hand, her wizened brown face displaying a curious dullness in her eyes.

  Leilah nodded and Mari looked away, setting to her task with grated cheese and salad items. “You know all them letters you sent me each year in the Christmas card?” Mari kept her eyes fixed on her work and didn’t see the slight nod Leilah gave. “Well, I couldn’t read ‘em. I didn’t learn so good at school so I got someone to read for me.”

  Leilah swallowed. The word seemed to creak from her throat. “Who, Mari?” She ran a trembling hand over her face. “Who read them? There were things I told you that I didn’t want other people to know.”

  “But you didn’t tell me the things I wanted,” Mari said, shooting a hurt look at Leilah. “You told me about your studies and your baby girl. You sent photos of your house in Auckland and said how great it was being married to a big ass businessman, but you didn’t tell me the one thing I needed to hear.” Mari put her knife down. “Why didn’t you come to your papa’s tangihanga?”

  Leilah squirmed in place, her cheeks flaming red and her eyes glittering with agony. She swallowed and the words came out in a sharp staccato. “Because I was admitted to a mental health facility for mothers with postnatal depression!” The words sounded stilted and tight, spoken through gritted teeth. Mari turned towards Leilah, her mouth slightly open and both sets of false teeth resting on the bottom gum. Leilah squeezed her eyes shut and put her hands either side of her face. “Nobody told me Dad died. When I got out of there; it was over. The farm was gone and the money invested. Michael salvaged a few pieces of furniture which didn’t sell in the auction and I had to work hard to look like I’d taken the news well so they didn’t put me back into hospital. I forced myself to cope, knowing I’d missed my chance to say goodbye to Dad and our last words weren’t good ones.” Leilah’s voice broke but when Mari took a step towards her, she shot out her hands to keep her away. “You wrote back!” she cried, hugging herself as though to dull the pain. “You wrote back after every letter.”

  Mari nodded. “I know. You only told me lighthearted stuff at first. It didn’t matter that someone else read the letters out loud and wrote down what I wanted to say.” The old lady swallowed and snapped off the gloves. Her brown fingers writhed in front of her chest, her face a mask of fear. “But then you started telling the truth a few years ago, kōtiro. You hated Auckland, your husband was a brute and the only good thing in your life was your girl. I knew what I wanted to say in return and they wrote it down for me.”

  Leilah writhed, the sharp edge of the sink cutting into her spine as a dull ache. “Who?” Her voice trembled. “Who knows about Seline’s father?”

  The lone sandwich on the cutting board resembled Leilah’s life in her peripheral vision. Deconstructed and partially finished, the red entrails of tomato stained the wood like a broken body. Leilah’s knees shook with such violence she struggled to stand, leaning against the sink like a drunk. “Who knows?” she hissed at Mari and the old woman’s eyes flared in fear.

  “I took them to someone I trusted,” Mari said, her face pinched with anxiety. “Someone I knew wouldn’t blab.”

  “Please tell me you took them to the vicar?” Leilah’s eyes begged for confirmation but Mari’s head shook from side
to side with agonising slowness.

  “I took them to the local cop.” Mari pursed her lips. “Tane’s pa read them for me. He never breathed a word to anyone; not about what he read for me, or about me not being able to see the words for myself.”

  Leilah nodded, relief thudding through her chest until she remembered he’d died a few years ago. “Then who?” she snapped. “Who read them after that?”

  Mari’s face creased in pain and her body seemed to twist even more; a gnarled tree in the centre of a back street kitchen. “I’d best not tell you. Youse won’t be happy with me.”

  Leilah closed her eyes against the sight of the stained ceiling and shuddered. “Just tell me!”

  “I still took your letters to the local cop,” Mari whispered. “Every Christmas. I didn’t know you’d start telling the truth, girly. Until then, they was all just cotton wool and fluff and I thought at least I knew you were alive...”

  Leilah ran. She banged from the shop and ran out into the street, not seeing the pavement in front of her feet or the smattering of slow moving bodies in her way. She ran to the ute and fumbled with the keys, dropping them twice before fitting the longest one into the lock. Leilah wrenched the door open and slumped into the seat but the fingers which fumbled for the ignition were empty. “The handwriting!” She thumped the steering wheel with her fist. “How did I not recognise his handwriting?”

  “No, you don’t!” A strong hand gripped hers as she flung herself cursing onto the pavement and tried to yank the keys from the lock. “What’s happened?”

  “No! Leave me alone!” Leilah wrestled for the keys but Dante’s strength held out and he snatched the bunch, holding them above his head. She jumped for them, unable to reach and exacting revenge instead, pummeling the strong chest in front of her with balled fists.

  Dante shoved the keys into his jacket pocket and grabbed Leilah’s wrists, forcing them around his waist and holding them behind him with an iron grip one-handed. With his other, he crushed her to his chest and patted her back like he soothed a child. “Shhhh,” he crooned, kissing the top of her head and dodging as she flailed. Leilah’s attempts to kick were futile and her energy spent, she collapsed into his embrace like a rag doll. “It’s ok,” he whispered into her addled brain, his words a healing balm. “Everything will be ok.”

  “It won’t,” Leilah sobbed. “It can’t ever be ok again.” She popped her head up and Dante moved his chin with a hiss of pain. “I need to leave.” Leilah’s eyes flashed with determination, tears dotting her eyelashes and cheeks.

  “You’re not driving in this state.” The certainty in Dante’s voice caused Leilah’s eyes to narrow.

  “I’ll get the bus.” She glanced along the street at the deserted bus terminal and the handsome male gripped her harder and shook his head.

  “No. Stay here. Talk to me. It can’t be that bad.”

  “It is that bad!” Leilah’s voice hiked and she spied Mari beetling along the street, her apron ties flapping behind her. She yelped in horror and broke free of Dante’s grip, diving behind him and pressing her face against his back. “Please, make her go away,” she wailed. “Make her go away. Don’t listen to her, please Dante, don’t listen.”

  Chapter 30

  Dante

  Dante stuffed Leilah into the passenger seat and headed Mari off on the pavement. He gestured with his hands and stopped Mari peeking around him at the stricken woman. Whatever he said seemed to work because she shuffled away without looking back and Dante got into the driver’s seat. He watched Leilah’s agony, seeing how she tipped backwards and forwards in physical and emotional pain before starting the ropey engine and moving into the traffic.

  Leilah didn’t settle until the township sign moved past, wishing them a safe journey wherever they were bound. Dante reached across and put his hand over her writhing fingers. “Stop now,” he commanded, authority in his voice. He drove to a layby off the beaten track and got out, holding his hand to Leilah to guide her out of the truck. When she saw the gentle incline up to the river bank she panicked and scrabbled at the door handle, desperate to escape. But Dante seized her shoulders and guided her forward.

  “No, not here!” she begged.

  “I can’t take you anywhere public,” he replied, his voice gentle. “You look like a panda bear. I thought you could wash your face in the stream and sit for a while until you’re calmer. Then you can tell me what the bloody hell happened.”

  Muscular arms lifted Leilah under her knees and he climbed the post and rail fence with her clinging around his neck. She inhaled his familiar scent and nestled her face under Dante’s chin. His strength provided a calming effect, just like always. She remembered their first kiss; tender, soft and loving; ruined by the mess which came afterwards. Leilah groaned and turned her head, suffocating in his chest with deliberate intent, figuring she’d be better off dead and so would the rest of the world.

  “Stop being a drama queen.” Dante snorted and laid her prone body on the soft grass. He slumped next to her and cuddled her close, his bicep acting as a hard pillow. The bubbling river soothed them both with its excited delight with life, crashing and splashing over jutting rocks and sharp shale. “You told her the truth.” Dante stated the obvious, not needing to ask unnecessary questions. “And she didn’t take it well?”

  “She took it fine,” Leilah muttered into his chest.

  “Of course she did.” Dante sniffed. “That’s why you were hysterical and she chased you down the street.”

  “She didn’t chase me.” Leilah wiped her nose on his shirt and heard the laughter in his voice.

  “I love you, Deleilah Dereham. Why won’t you let me take care of you?”

  “Nobody can take care of me.” Her voice sounded loaded with meaning and Dante pulled her closer.

  “Idiot!” He settled his cheek on the top of her head and closed his eyes, drinking in the calm of their surroundings and allowing his muscles to relax. Leilah caught his mood as he knew she would and let her bunched limbs stretch. When she wrapped an arm around Dante’s waist he sighed and she felt his lips move into a smile against her head.

  “Hector was a good man, Leilah.” His words came out of nowhere and she tensed, lulled into a false sense of security by the familiar surroundings. So many memories clamored in her brain for recognition and she battled them, sorting them out one by one into good and bad. Dante’s words jarred them back into a mess and she huffed an exasperated breath.

  “Don’t ruin it,” she said, her tone testy and demanding.

  “Well, he was! We were a right motley crew and they parented us, Hector and Horse. They’re responsible for raising all four of us, really. Tane’s dad was always too busy and mine was a waste of space.” Dante snorted and Leilah cuddled closer, feeling his agony.

  “It wasn’t his choice! How could it be? You’re blaming your father for things he couldn’t change.”

  “Can you imagine what an outsider I felt back then? Nobody else’s father lived openly as a homosexual.”

  “Your dad’s sweet,” Leilah mused. “He’s a kind, gentle man and you never needed to doubt his love.”

  Dante shook his head, latent anger still boiling at his core. “Everyone treated it like an infection, Lei. Yeah, Dad’s Swedish but the ‘F’ in the Three Effs didn’t stand for foreigner. It was ‘fag’ but you were all too nice to say it.”

  Leilah sat up, her blue eyes filled with sadness. “We never said it because it didn’t cross our minds!” She grabbed Dante around the neck and mushed his face into her chest in a rush of maternalism. “We loved you for yourself! Nothing else mattered. And for what it’s worth; I like your dad heaps!”

  Dante snuffed against her shirt, his tone heavy. “You’re right. He’s been a great dad and now he’s dying. I don’t know what to say to him or how to help. I want to tell him it’s ok and that I don’t resent my upbringing but I can’t. It’s not fair to lie to him now it matters so much to tell the truth.”

  �
��Then don’t.” Leilah kissed the top of the blonde head and rocked her friend back and forth. “You’re already showing him how much you love him by being here so often. Keep doing that and the rest will sort itself out. I wish I’d got the chance to make things right with Hector. You’re lucky in that way. You’ll part as friends.”

  They walked by the river, hands interlocked and their troubles sitting on the bank behind them, waiting. Dante picked up rocks and threw them one-handed, his hair glinting with sun-kissed highlights. Leilah stroked his strong, tanned fingers and wished she could go back in time; knowing if she did, it would remove too much that was good in her life along with the bad. They sat amongst the daisies and buttercups and Leilah weaved the upturned faces into a necklace which she strung around Dante’s neck, kissing his forehead as she tied the final knot.

  “Promise you’ll always think well of me?” Dante begged as they lay in the sunshine like a pair of railway tracks.

  Leilah turned onto her side to face him. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing, just promise me.”

  “Has something gone wrong?” Leilah nudged his shoulder with her hand and he caught it and brought the tips of her fingers to his lips.

  “Yes.” His reply seemed to crack open the pleasantness of the afternoon and restore the ugly foreboding to its rightful place above Leilah’s head.

  “Can I help?” she asked and he shook his head.

  “No. I got too far into something and now I’ll have to let it run its course. But promise you’ll think well of me, no matter what.”

  “I promise.” Leilah dipped her head and kissed his lips, knowing further questioning was futile with the banker. He wouldn’t tell her and the weight of their secrets sullied the good memories of the riverbank. Leilah pulled away before Dante could make anything more of the kiss and sat up, watching the bees dot from daisy to buttercup and back again, collecting pollen from the bed in which she conceived Seline two decades earlier. Leilah felt embarrassed by the ache between her thighs which the thought activated. It induced the memory of those other times and she pushed it away. She wished she could have warned herself that she’d never experience such innocence again; those powerful and overwhelming sensations only available when two people loved each other that much, exploring their bodies like the contours of a sacred map. She bit her lip and thought of Tane’s knowledge, afraid of his reasons for not demanding answers sooner.